Searching For You
by Deadly Whirlpool
Summary: A Stiles is Thomas Fic. SLASH. Full summary inside. Considers only the first book in the Maze Runner Trilogy.
1. PROLOGUE

**TITLE: SEARCHING FOR YOU**

 **FANDOMS: TEEN WOLF X THE MAZE RUNNER**

 **RELATIONSHIPS: THOMAS/NEWT, DEREK HALE/STILES STILINSKI (past)**

 **SUMMARY:**

 **A Stiles is Thomas fic.**

WICKED is an illegal organisation which captured teenagers and used them for experimentation. Thomas and the Gladers were facing a mind-controlled Gally when a bunch of people burst in and arrested the Creators. The Gladers were separated for their safety, with no way of communicating each other and their memories were returned.

Now, Stiles is finding it hard to reconcile with his problems from before, while being very determined to find the friends he made in the Glade.

Also, is WICKED really disbanded? Are the Gladers indeed safe?

 **DISCLAIMER: I do not own Teen Wolf or The Maze Runner. No copyright infringement intended.**

* * *

 **PROLOGUE: I'll Find You, I Promise.**

 _He was running, his breath coming in pants. His heartbeat thundered in his ears._

 _Where_ was _he? A snarl sounded close by. Oh god, it was almost upon him! He had to survive!_

 _Panic clouded his mind and adrenaline flooded his body._

 _No no no no no..._

 _A scream sounded behind him. He couldn't hear his pursuer anymore. He stopped, listening hard. The mist cleared, and he saw walls. He was in the Maze._

 _"HELP!"_

 _That voice was very familiar. Before he realised it, he was running towards the shout. He kept running but he couldn't find anything._

 _Light disappeared and he was in the dark again. He could hear voices._

 _"_ _It's better if they are all kept separately. For both their health and safety."_

 _"_ _No! You can't take him away!"_

 _"I'll find you, I swear! Let go of me, you shanks! I'll find you again, Tommy, I promise!"_

 _"WICKED is good."_

 _"There's one more test."_

"Stiles! Wake up!"

Stiles woke up with a start.

"Whaa-?"

His throat was raw as though he had been screaming. He saw his father standing by his bedside, looking concerned. He handed him a glass of water. Stiles drank it, savoring the soothing feel of it.

"What happened?" Stiles asked, looking at his father.

"You were having a nightmare," was the answer.

Stiles nodded.

"I'm fine now, dad. Go to sleep."

His father looked as though he wanted to say something. But then, he nodded and just said, "Sleep well. Good night."

As the door shut behind him, Stiles put his head in his hands, breathing deeply. He turned to see the time. 2:24 AM.

He sighed. Atleast, he had had a few hours of sleep.

It has been two months since he was rescued from WICKED.

He remembered how military personnel had broken into the room just as Gally had thrown that knife. In the chaos that followed, he recalled with vicious clarity as Chuck- innocent Chuck- fell to the ground, having taken the knife meant for him.

 _Breathe... 1,2,3...In...Out..._

His hands stopped shaking.

He collapsed back into his bed. After trying to sleep unsuccessfully, he finally clambered out and stumbled to his computer.

Pressing his eyes with the palms of his hands, he waited as the computer powered up. Reopening his previous search pages, he searched for anything that might show where his friends were now.

Article after article he browsed through, catching snatches of sentences.

 _Officials received a tip on the location of a secret WICKED compound..._

 _Found teenagers, hurt and exhausted, who were all part of the experiments..._

 _Their memories had been wiped and false ones were planted. They were given new names and were made to believe that the planet had been scorched by a solar flare and that the remaining population were infected wuth a deadly virus..._

 _An employee had triggered the self-destruct sequence..._

 _The survivors were separated in the chaos caused by the explosion and were taken to secure locations for treatment..._

 _The entire world is in shock over the cruelty exhibited by the organisation..._

 _Outrage by the masses..._

"Nothing new then," Stiles muttered.

Reading the news articles brought back the memories he wished to suppress.

 _Chuck lying in a pool of blood, running for their lives through the Maze..._

Stiles wrenched his mind back to the present. Wallowing wasn't going to help. He had to find them- Minho, Chuck (if he was alive), Frypan, Teresa... and Newt.

Oh god, _Newt._

He could see the blonde behind his closed eyelids, as though he was right _there,_ within his reach, his hair messed in the wind, eyes sparkling with mischief and sorrow hidden in the depths, his lips curved in a fond grin.

Stiles let out a shuddering sigh, as he felt calm spread through him.

Soon.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **So, what do you think? Like it? Hate it?**

 **I searched high and low for a fanfic of this summary, but couldn't find it. Hence, I tried my hand at it. Also, it's my first slash fic. So, I appreciate con crit.**

 **A** **nd I apologise if anything in the Teen Wolf area is wrong, because, to be honest, I have watched only a couple of episodes *Don't hurt me!***

 **Comments and reviews are much appreciated. Or you can PM me. Visit my profile for links to other sites.**

 **Thanks for reading...**


	2. Chapter One

**CHAPTER 1**

Stiles was by no means, a coward.

If anything, he was stupidly brave. Always the first to throw himself headlong into danger, putting himself in danger if it means saving others. Even though, the others happen to be werewolves who aren't as breakable as him.

But now, standing in his room and looking at his packed bags, the thought that whispered _coward_ niggled at him. He crushed it unrepentantly.

He deserved better, he told himself firmly.

Just thinking about what had tipped him off the edge, made his blood boil.

It started with Derek. ' _Doesn't everything?'_

They had defeated the latest monster attacking Beacon Hills. The pack was mostly unharmed. They had all went to rest after a pack meeting. Stiles had gone home, but was jittery and still pumped with adrenaline. He had been planning on doing something, _anything,_ to tire himself out.

All of a sudden, Derek was there, crowding into his space and offering a much more pleasant way of working off the excess energy. Make no mistake, both were willing participants. It also helped that Stiles had had a massive crush on the constantly frowning wolf.

Stiles thought maybe something had changed between them, that maybe there'll be less slamming him against walls or hitting his head on the steering wheel.

But when they next saw each other, Derek didn't acknowledge him at all. Apparently, Stiles had become invisible all of a sudden to Derek. So, Stiles had told himself it was a one time deal and not to fuss about it.

It was working till there was another life threatening situation in which Stiles found himself. He escaped by the skin of his teeth. And that night, he was once again visited by Derek. Again, being the utter _idiot_ he was, Stiles gave everything to him. Again, he was ignored.

This happened over and over again, because Stiles couldn't say no, because he _had_ to go and fall in love with someone who wouldn't love him back. It was as though his mind hadn't learnt anything from his unrequited love for Lydia.

So he was silent about it, welcoming Derek into his arms even though his heart broke a little every time. It astonished him that _no one_ in the pack had caught on to it. Not even Scott, who was supposed to be his best friend.

 _'Some friend,'_ he thought, bitterly.

Scott couldn't see two feet away from Allison. He certainly didn't see his supposed best friend falling into depression.

What clinched the whole deal was the pack taking a unanimous vote to exclude Stiles (read, cut him out), from the pack to keep him safe because, after all he had done, he was _just_ a fragile human.

 _"We are doing this to keep you safe, Stiles."_

 _"Please, you know that you always get hurt."_

He had tried his best to make them see reason, that he was actually safer with them. But no, they hadn't budged. He had even appealed to Derek, but he had only clenched his jaw and turned away.

So, he had been shunned by the pack whom he had considered to be friends, _family,_ and continued to fall even more into depression.

This continued till one day he was snapped out of his despair by his father.

He had been mechanically washing the dishes, when the Sheriff came up to him.

 _"Stiles, I know that you will not tell me what's wrong. I don't know how you've got into your head that you will burden me with your problems. But here's the truth kid, I am your_ dad. _It's my job to worry about you. And not talking about what ever is wrong is only making me worry more."_

 _Stiles looked into his father's eyes and saw how sad and tired he looked. He also saw the overwhelming concern. He couldn't take it anymore, and so, he talked._

 _They sat at the table and Stiles told him everything, including Derek and the pack's latest decision. When he finally finished, he felt so weary and yet so free. He didn't realise how much it was weighing on him to lie to his dad._

 _The Sheriff, before speaking, got up and pulled him into a tight hug, which left Stiles shuddering as he tried his level best to hug him back._

 _He then placed his hands on his shoulders and looked him firmly in the eye and said, "You are my son. You deserve so much better than them. If they can't see your value, it's them who are unworthy. Do you understand me? No one can dictate your life, Stiles. Just think about what you want, for once in your life."_

And Stiles had thought about what he wanted.

He decided to take a month off school. He was already ahead in all classes (when there wasn't any research to be done, he had so much spare time which he put into school work), so there wasn't any problem in getting the leave.

Then, he told his dad that he was going on a road trip, and that he'll visit a distant aunt of his.

His dad knew that he had to do this. This was something he _wanted_ to do, for himself. He didn't stop him. He just told him to keep him updated.

The Sheriff had looked very self-satisfied when he came home that day. When asked, he just said, "It was a good day at work." and dropped the subject. Stiles just smiled, amused. He didn't know that the Sheriff had had a very long, satisfying talk with Derek Hale which _might_ have involved death threats and threats of bodily harm.

So, with a cheerful smile, Stiles waved goodbye to his dad and left Beacon Hills on his trusty Jeep.

In that month, he would enjoy himself, let go of his resentment (he may forgive but he most definitely won't forget), make the decision that Derek hasn't done anything to deserve his love and Stiles most certainly would not be hung up on him anymore, meet some guys and girls, have fun, visit his aunt who would be overjoyed to see him and finally, at the end of the month, he will make his way back home.

But the thing is, he will never reach Beacon Hills. His Jeep will be found in the parking lot of a motel, his room will look as though a hurricane had hit it, but there'll be no sign of him.

The Sheriff will pursue the investigation with single minded determination. The pack, including Derek, realizing what a mistake they had made, will do their best to find him. But even _they_ won't succeed.

Where _was_ Stiles?

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Reviews** **and comments** **are appreciated.** **Or you can PM me.**

 **And also, if Derek seems like a tosser, that's exactly what I was aiming for.**

 **Stiles getting kicked out of the pack is one of my favorite themes. But I got** _ **sick**_ **of reading how his bleeding heart forgives every one of his betrayers and he just joins them again. I love happy endings, but I hate when Stiles never cares about himself, in the fics I've read.**

 **Hence, this is the result in which I'll be addresing every one of my grievances. :D**


	3. Chapter Two

**CHAPTER TWO**

The Sheriff had always been very protective of his son. Stiles was all he had left after he lost his wife.

He had never been so terrified as he had been when he realised, after emerging from drowning his sorrows in the bottle, that he had neglected his _son_ , and now there was a yawing chasm between them. He was afraid he might never reach Stiles, and he had despaired.

But, he wasn't a Stilinski and a Sheriff to boot, for nothing, and he would have been damned before he let his son slip through his fingers.

When father and son had finally reunited, their bond was stronger than ever before, as they finally acknowledged that in the place of three, there was now two, and that each drew strength from the other.

So, it was obvious that the Sheriff would worry when Stiles started to lie, and evade answering, especially when it all started when Derek Hale entered the picture. But he was patient, trusting that Stiles would tell him everything when he was ready.

There was never any question that Stiles wouldn't tell him anything, because even before Scott, it was only them against the world. And though Scott and Stiles were brothers in all but blood, the Sheriff knew that it _(all they had was each other)_ won't be changing any time soon, if ever.

When Stiles was falling into depression, _slipping away again,_ the Sheriff tried but failed to reach him. Stiles didn't want to talk due to some misplaced notion of self-sacrificial protectiveness. And all his father could do was soothe him when he found himself in the throes of a panic attack, mumbling, " _They don't want me, they don't want me, I'll be better oh god please don't shut me out please please please."_

And every time this happened, watching his kid's suffering, it felt like a red-hot iron fist had clenched around his heart.

After seeing Stiles in a catatonic state for over a week, the Sheriff had finally put his foot down. Because he wasn't going to just _stand by,_ doing nothing, while Stiles withers away.

And the truth came out.

The Sheriff kept all his instincts, which were screaming at him to just take his gun and put a bullet through _every single person_ who hurt Stiles, under control. Right now, the caring father was needed. There'll be time later to let out his homicidal tendencies.

And, Derek Hale was the one who bore the brunt of his anger, _rage how DARE he hurt Stiles he deserves to burn want to rip his eyes out for what he did._ And it wouldn't be enough, definitely not, but his blood-lust was satisfied a tiny bit.

His very soul ached as he watched Stiles leave Beacon Hills in his beloved Jeep. He hoped his son can find himself and become the confident person he was before. And if anyone hurt him ever again, he will be there with his trusty gun. And to make sure it hurts the werewolves, he will be making a visit to Chris Argent very soon.

* * *

It didn't take long, but longer than he would have liked, till Scott came around enquiring why Stiles wasn't coming to school, and his Jeep isn't in its place and _is he alright? I was worried since I haven't seen him in a while._

Of everyone, it was Scott whose behaviour had most disappointed the Sheriff. He wasn't impressed with how he had dropped his son as soon as he got a girl.

The Sheriff got a vindictive pleasure as Scott blanched when he was informed that Stiles had left to visit his aunt for a month.

"But...but he didn't tell me!" Scott said, plaintively.

"Why should he?" was the sharp reply.

Scott winced. Looking into Papa Stilinski's wrathful eyes, he knew that the Sheriff knew everything.

His attempts at apologies and awkward explanations were cut short when the Sheriff said, "I am not the one you should be apologising to. It's my son whom I almost lost to depression because of what you, _all of you_ , did."

His voice was harsh, with barely suppresed rage. Scott flinched, and then paled drastically when he understood the words.

"Depression!? Stiles was depressed?"

"Goodbye Scott," said the Sheriff.

As he closed the door behind a horror-stricken Scott, he felt a small doubt that maybe he shouldn't have said anything about the depression, but then it was squashed without mercy. He knew that the whole pack would know of what had transpired soon enough.

 _'Let them know of what they had done, the suffering they caused.'_

He knew that they'll analyse the past days of Stiles' behaviour till the truth slaps them in the face.

From then on, every few days, for the whole month, someone from the pack would come around either to the Stilinski home or the Station to ask if Stiles had said anything, and if he was fine. Every time the Sheriff and Stiles talk, Stiles would be informed of all that has happened, but not once would there be a message to the pack, not of acknowledgement nor of forgiveness.

And every time, the Sheriff would be filled with pity for them as their faces become drawn with sadness, when he shakes his head _no, he didn't give any message for you all._ But then, he'll remember the cries that Stiles emitted during his nightmares and that pity will be crushed and distributed into oblivion.

* * *

It was a normal day. The Sheriff knew that Stiles would be on his way home. He had spoken with him only the other night, when he had taken a room in a motel by the roadside.

It was calm and peaceful in Beacon Hills.

The peace would soon be shattered by a phone call.

 _"Sheriff Stilinski? There's been an incident. Your son is missing. It appears as though there's been a struggle in his motel room. We'd like you to come down here, sir."_

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **What do you think?**

 **I wanted to explore the dynamics between father and son, and to set the foundation for their relationship in this story. I hope it was acceptable.**

 **Comments and reviews are appreciated! Or you can PM me.**


	4. Chapter Three

**CHAPTER THREE**

 **WARNING :** **THIS CHAPTER HAS DESCRIPTION OF NON-CON/ RAPE. There is NO occurence of non-con, but there are allusions to it, as well as some descriptions.**

* * *

There are always men, on the prowl, looking for unsuspecting, innocent people who make easy prey for satisfying their needs. Eugene was one of the more terrifying of them, considering how his victims are never seen again for a long time.

His primary aim was to make money, and so when he was approached by an organisation called WICKED, he merely thought about the amount he was to earn, shrugged and accepted their offer.

He was to do what he did best- pick out the prey. But he was given a condition- they were to be teenagers. He didn't make a fuss; it wasn't a big deal anyway. After identifying the target, he was to get them alone and subdue them, after which WICKED would be notified for the retrieval of the kid.

He didn't know what was going to happen to the kids, nor did he care. As long as he got the money, he was absolutely fine.

It had been a while since he caught anyone. So, when he found a boy, driving alone in his Jeep, and booking a room in the motel with the bar where he was hanging out, Eugene started planning out another kidnapping. He _was_ , after all, running out of money.

But looking at the lean build of the kid, his long neck and his red lips, Eugene's mind was overtaken with flashes of pale skin covered with sweat and bruises, the pretty thing kneeling at Eugene's feet, looking like he belonged there, with a dirty rag stuffed in his mouth, hands tied behind his back, tears streaming down his face, eyes terrified, the air filled with the sounds of his whimpers of _pain_ \- Eugene closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to not moan out loud.

He really needed the money. He couldn't have his way this time. Such a pity too, that vast expanse of pale skin would have looked _beautiful_ with some cuts, bruises and a splash of red. A pity, indeed.

And so, another teenager was given to WICKED.

It would be a long time before Eugene forgot the spitfire who put up such a good fight, filling Eugene with the need to _mark him claim him hurt him make him bleed_ , but ultimately lost due to the effect of the tranquiliser that he was shot with. He got his money and that was the last he saw of that kid.

* * *

Rebecca Green was, at first glance, an ordinary woman. She looked like a homemaker, who always bustled around tidying up things, and cooked enough to last a week. Well, she does do the above mentioned, _but,_ she's also an employee in the organisation called WICKED. She was one of the people who monitored the Maze. She worked during the day, checked out in the evening and went back home to a loving husband and an adorable daughter.

She loved work, but she hated what was done in the name of science in that facility. She thought it immoral and unethical to kidnap teenagers, _heavens they're just kids,_ suppress their memories and plant false ones using a combination of drugs and hypnosis, all the while experimenting on them.

But she gritted her teeth and told herself it was for the greater good.

It was six months since the last teen. He was brainwashed, and kept under a constant dose of drugs while his biology was studied to plan for the scenarios which would incite the necessary reactions that would be observed carefully.

It was one and a half months since the boy was sent into the Maze, with murky memories of his name being Thomas and of the girl Teresa. Everything that was to happen in the Maze had been planned out. Thomas was conditioned to unlock some more false memories, that were planted before he was sent in, if he was stung by a Griever.

Everything was going well. Apparently, the reactions of Thomas' body were what was needed in the research. This filled the scientists with excitement and enthusiasm to get more data.

It was purely by chance that the door wasn't shut fully when Rebecca was passing by.

"His brain is reacting vigorously to every scenario, it's amazing!"

"We need to stimulate for stronger emotions. He's dealing well with stress."

"And he's learning everything he can while getting to know the other Gladers."

"We don't know how he reacts to loss, yet."

There was a thoughtful silence.

"Who is he close to?"

"That runner? Minho?"

"What about Teresa?"

"He is quite attached to the other boy, Newt. It appears like the attachment is mutual too."

"Hmm... Newt is a good choice but, I feel like there would be a better reaction if he loses him _after_ they become even more acquainted."

"How about that younger kid? Chuck. Thomas is protective of him, isn't he?"

There was a murmur of assent from everyone.

"Looks like it's going to be Chuck. We can include his response to anger if we... make _Gally_...to be the one who kills Chuck."

Then the discussion continued on how to bring about this scenario. Rebecca paled with horror as she heard every word.

She remembered Chuck. He was an adorably sweet kid. As she listened, her mind came up with vivid images of how Chuck would be murdered. As if that wasn't enough, Chuck was replaced by her daughter, lying on the floor, bleeding out due to the knife embedded in her chest.

Rebecca stumbled to the nearest washroom and threw up violently. She realized that she was crying, while she heaved. Chuck had a family too. He would have been loved by his mother and father. They're probably sick with worry over his disappearance. To take away their son, and rob him of an opportunity to live his life, and let him die thinking that his parents were killed in the Flare, was beyond what Rebecca could bear.

She informed the reception that she was sick and left for home. As soon as reaching her house, she pulled up a secure connection and sent an anonymous tip to the Government about the location and details of the research that goes on there.

And after, she wrapped herself around her daughter, that night, and spent the night too afraid to close her eyes, for fear that her nightmares would be too realistic for her to handle.

* * *

Elsewhere, an officer who got the tip, rushed to his superior. Within sometime calls were placed to other higher authorities and a stealth and rescue mission was planned.

* * *

 **A/N: Rebecca Green and Eugene are OCs. Eugene is one sick individual.**

 **I'll update the chapters that have already been finished. But I am a really irregular updater. I kinda upload as I write the chapter but at times (almost always) I get distracted with reading rather than writing.** **Sorry about that.** **Rest assured, this story will never be abandoned.**

 **Let me know what you thought about the chapter, and the story till now.**


	5. Chapter Four

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Feeling overwhelmed seemed to have become the norm for Thomas.

Waking up in a dark lift, with no memories other than his name, and climbing out of the lift into some sort of a clearing, where there were a bunch of teenagers, was enough to rattle him a bit.

Learning about the Glade, the Maze, and the Creators was enough to make his head spin. That didn't stop him from firing questions though. That habit appeared to irritate everyone. Well, everyone but one.

Newt didn't appear irritated or annoyed; no, he was more like _indulgent._

Thomas felt at ease while picking apart the emotions that flitted across people's faces. He knew that he was a good reader of body language _(he had much practice in dealing with red eyes)._ Thomas ran a hand through his hair.

 _Red_ eyes? Where did that thought even come from? He had been having peculiar thoughts, mostly half-formed, and the more he tried to recall, the faster they seemed to slip away like running water.

 _Anyways,_ Newt.

Thomas has never felt more intrigued than when he tries to decipher Newt. The copper-haired teen appeared to be made of so many layers and he seemed to be quite capable of keeping it hidden behind a wall of optimistic cheer for the sake of the Gladers.

Thomas was hard pressed to get even a _glimpse_ behind the walls Newt had constructed around him. But when he did, and he _has_ , the amount of emotion that he caught in a glance knocked him _breathless_.

A few nights ago, Thomas had decided to take a walk. The atmosphere had felt too stifling inspite of dear old Chuck's best efforts to make him feel at ease. It might also be because Thomas hadn't seen Newt at the campfire and so, he _might_ have been a teeny bit disappointed and distracted.

As he walked by the woods, he caught sight of a light that would have been hidden if he had turned his head even a bit. Intrigued, he went over, treading lightly over the leaves.

There, he saw Newt leaning on a tree trunk, his face painted golden with shadows swirling over it in a mesmerising pattern due to the lamp he kept in front of him. He kept his head turned up looking at the canopy above. On seeing Newt with his walls down, appearing _so_ vulnerable while being so damn _strong_ , made something clench in Thomas' chest. The naked desperation, hopelessness, and deep sadness interlaced with a tiny sprinkle of what could have passed for wry humour, made Thomas want to protect him from the whole world and keep him safe always _(with him)._

Thomas backed way slowly, feeling that he had intruded on what was clearly a very private moment for long enough. The air was pierced by the distant hollers from the campfire. And when Thomas turned back one last time, Newt was wearing his mask once again, and it was as impenetrable as ever.

Thomas might have thought that he had imagined the whole thing if it weren't for the single tear on Newt's pale cheek, that glinted in the light.

The following days, Thomas tried his best to take Newt's mind off things. Since Newt felt a bit amused at his curiosity, Thomas held no questions back - both sensible ones and the particularly idiots ones. If it got at least a flash of his warm, genuine smile, Thomas considered it a win.

Thomas didn't understand how the slender boy managed to worm his way into his thoughts, nor did he realise the actual amount of affection he held for him. But he did know that he cared for Newt a great deal.

What Thomas didn't notice, for all his observant nature, was the way Newt smiled more around him, how he seemed to light up whenever he caught sight of the newest addition to the Glade, or how Newt's eyes always tracked Thomas around the Glade.

But Alby did notice. And later, Minho. They were closer to Newt more than any other Glader, after all. They were quite protective of Newt, not that he needed any protection, and were wary at first. Then, seeing that Newt did seem more _happy_ , and he didn't appear to be labouring under an invisible weight as much as he did before. He still gave the appearance of someone having the weight of the world resting on their shoulders, but it appeared as though the weight lessened whenever he was with the Greenie.

So they kept their silence, and glared the other observant Gladers, who took notice, into submission before they could voice it out loud.

It was as Frypan told Alby and Minho,"As long as Newt's happy."

* * *

 **A/N: Teresa hasn't come to the Glade yet.**

 **Aaaand, Newtmas!**

 **Comments** **and reviews** **are very much welcome.** **Or you can PM me.**


	6. Chapter Five

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Scott tapped his pen on the table while willing the time to go faster. Unfortunately for him, being a werewolf didn't actually give him any power over time.

He sighed forcefully, and glanced to his side to share an ever-suffering look with Stiles, when he remembered.

Stiles had left.

He had just packed and left Beacon Hills. Left him, Scott.

Scott felt an irrational anger flood him, which was quenched even before it could take hold, by an unrelenting wave of worry.

 _Was he okay? Was he eating properly? Was he remembering to take his medications?_

He sighed again.

Unbidden, his mind flashed to _that_ day. He cursed his wolf nature which granted him with high clarity vision.

He doubted that he could ever forget the way Stiles' face fell when the pack's unanimous decision to keep him safe by cutting him off was announced. Nor could he forget how hopeful Stiles had looked when he looked at his best friend, hoping to see at least a token of protest, and how his warm brown eyes had darkened with betrayal and sorrow.

Not for the first time, Scott wished that he had opposed the dumb decision put forth by the Alpha, Derek. Maybe if he had, this wouldn't have happened. Maybe if he had atleast gone after him, or spoken to him at school or gone over to his house, he would have been able to spot the signs of depression.

God, all these what-ifs made his head hurt, and a werewolf can't even _get_ headaches.

He turned and saw Allison. His beautiful, fierce and absolutely stunning girlfriend. Looking at her, all his worries faded, leaving only mushy feelings behind.

He reassured himself that Stiles can take care of himself, and that he'll be fine.

Before starting to daydream about Allison, a tiny part of him wondered whether he was really _that_ willing to cast aside concern for his best friend, who might be in danger for all anyone knows,to think about his girlfriend, who is quite safe in Beacon Hills.

* * *

Allison glanced at her boyfriend. She was worried about him. She was also worried for Stiles. She knew that Scott hadn't been paying much attention to Stiles since she came into the picture.

She wondered if she had been the reason for creating a wedge between them. When Scott had called a pack meeting to let them know that Stiles had decided to take a break from Beacon Hills, she hadn't known what to think.

That was when Scott had dropped the bombshell.

 _Stiles had been depressed._

And, they hadn't noticed it!

All Allison could feel was guilt. Maybe she should've told Scott to check on Stiles. Stiles, who had never been anything but kind to her. Stiles, who always found time to help her whenever she was in need of help. Stiles, who had only put on a brave face and a fake smile when he noticed the distance growing between Scott and him.

The same Stiles whom she had been so very jealous of for the bond he had shared with Scott.

Was it any wonder she felt guilty?

 _Please Stiles, please be safe,_ she prayed.

* * *

A few rows over, another pack member was thinking about the erratic human, too.

Lydia Martin was always fascinated with interesting things.

But for her to maintain the popular air-head image, it was near impossible for her to just let loose and indulge in whatever she wanted.

And Stiles had been the most interesting of everything, person or otherwise, she had ever come across.

She had worked quite hard to craft that mask of an average intelligent, arrogant high-schooler. And she had worked hard to maintain it constantly to prevent anyone from looking further than it.

When Lydia realised that Stiles hadn't even considered that facade to be real, but had kept quiet about it nonetheless, it had floored her. She was non-committal on the fact that Stiles happened to have a crush, the size of Mt Everest, on her. But the truth was, she was quite flattered and touched to realise that Stiles had seen the _real_ Lydia and still liked her enough to crush on her.

Unlike what others thought, Lydia was very observant. She noticed and catalogued everything. This made her a formidable person. So, Lydia had noticed when something had been going on between Stiles and Derek. She wasn't sure what, but she did have her suspicions.

She also had noticed how Stiles' normally cheerful attitude deteriorated until it looked like he was barely holding on. She would have confronted him, but no matter how much she had wanted it to be true, she wasn't _actually_ close with him.

So, she had trusted Scott McCall to take care of his best friend.

That was a mistake she would never commit again.

She also vowed to keep a close eye on Derek, while hoping that Stiles found enough of himself to put back together.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Here** **are** **a few pack members' perspective of when Stiles had left. I apologise for any horrendous deviations in the mannerisms of the Teen Wolf characters. Do let me know of any mistakes, so I can correct them.**

 **Reviews** **and comments are much appreciated.** **Or PM me.**


	7. Chapter Six

**CHAPTER SIX**

"Thomas!"

Thomas sat up in a rush, adrenaline pumping through his veins, mind alert for danger.

"Whoa! Calm down!"

The haze cleared as Thomas emerged fully from Morpheus' realm. He turned and saw Chuck holding his hands up as though to hold something back.

Thomas let out a breath, and ran a hand through his hair.

"Sorry," he breathed out, feeling the last of his flight-or-fight response draining away.

"You okay?", asked Chuck, concerned for his new friend.

Thomas nodded.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just, you know, dreams."

Chuck's face cleared.

"I know, everyone gets them. Our past memories, I think. But no one actually remembers what we dreamt about once awake."

Thomas thought that over. He realised it was true. All he could remember was a sense of belonging, love and safety. Just thinking about it caused his chest to ache, and his eyes to prickle.

"Yeah," Thomas croaked.

Some of what he was feeling must have bled through, since Chuck's face became sympathetic.

"C'mon, greenie. Frypan's dishing out the food," said Chuck, and walked away, giving Thomas the space he desperately needed to compose himself.

Thomas took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Thinking hard, he vaguely remembered a man, with kind eyes which showed hidden strength. His face was filled with pride whenever he gazed at Thomas, filling him with a warm feeling ( _homesafelove)_.

He basked in that amazing feeling while climbing out of his hammock. He stretched his arms up, standing on his tiptoes, while yawning. When he blinked his eyes open, he saw Newt standing a few feet away, wide-eyed with pink cheeks, staring at the hem of his shirt.

Thomas felt blood rush to his face when Newt slowly dragged his eyes up to his face.

Feeling particularly cheeky, Thomas winked at Newt, and took an unholy delight when the pink bloomed into a full blush. Thomas walked towards a frozen Newt, holding the intense eye contact.

"Hello, Newt," murmured Thomas, in his gravelly morning voice.

Thomas wasn't sure, but he thought Newt's breath hitched. Newt's pupils were blown, and Thomas was pretty sure that his eyes were the same way.

"Tommy," said Newt, in a low whisper.

Somehow, that felt more intimate than anything else.

Thomas took a step forward. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, but he just wanted to get close to the lean boy in front of him, with his feathery hair that Thomas wanted to run his hands through to check if it felt as soft as it looked. Newt looked like he felt the same pull to get closer as he seemed to sway forward.

Before anything could happen though, someone cleared their throat near them.

Thomas and Newt jumped apart as though burnt, their eye contact broken.

Thomas turned his head to see Alby, with a knowing and exasperated look on his face.

Thomas opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"Hey, Alby," said Newt. His voice broke at the end and so he cleared his throat.

Thomas sneaked a look at Newt from the corner of his eye. When his eyes met Newt's, who was doing the same, he jerked his head sharply to look at Alby again. He felt his ears burning.

Alby was saying something, but Thomas couldn't hear anything. He was thinking about what had happened, _almost_ happened, just a few moments before.

 _What was that?_ He wondered.

He couldn't remember feeling that way before, but all he knew was that he wouldn't mind if he were to feel that low, burning ( _all-consuming),_ warmth again.

"Tommy!"

The voice brought him back to the present, and he flushed seeing that Alby had already left.

He glanced at Newt questioningly.

Newt gave a small smirk.

"Alby told us to come and eat or the other shuck-faces wouldn't leave anything for us."

"Yeah, okay."

Thomas fell in step with Newt, walking at his side.

"You never did say what you came here for," said Thomas, looking straight ahead.

"I came to wake you up, shank," retorted Newt. "You always sleep like the dead and then you whine about not getting anything to eat."

"Hey! It's not my fault," protested Thomas, feeling a grin creeping up on his face. "Chuck snores in his sleep. You try sleeping next to him!"

Newt chuckled.

"Maybe you should find another place to sleep," laughed Newt.

"Maybe I should just steal yours," Thomas shot back, enjoying their banter.

Newt laughed at him.

"Maybe you should," muttered Newt to himself, not meaning for Thomas to hear.

But Thomas did hear it and when he glanced at Newt in surprise, Newt's eyes widened. But he didn't take back his statement.

Thomas smiled slowly.

"Maybe I will," he murmured, knowing that Newt will hear him.

As he expected, Newt blushed lightly but didn't reply.

If their shoulders happened to bump as they walked, or if their hands brushed each other, or if there were soft smiles on their faces, well, no one was going to say anything.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **OMG, it's official. I have mentally regressed in my age. The above chapter is making me cringe.**

 **4311KING:** _ **Yeah, the end of Chapter 1 indicates the introduction of Maze Runner. It's not the end of Teen Wolf, though.**_

 **Comments and Reviews are appreciated. Or you can PM me.**


	8. Chapter Seven

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

Alby had been the first one at the Glade. This made him the leader. Minho and Newt happened to be the ones who had survived the longest, next to Alby. So, they were the other undisputed leaders, though Alby could overrule them.

When Ben had woken up in the Glade, he had been so confused, not knowing what was happening, where he was, what were these other boys doing there, and _could someone please just give a straight answer!?_

He was about to have an anxiety attack, when this calm, strong boy, whose name he later learns to be Newt, comes up to him, laying a hand on his chest and tells him to just _breathe._

And so he did, looking into his eyes, letting the calm wash over him and anchor him to reality.

Since then, whenever he was overwhelmed he would find Newt, and sit by him, letting his presence anchor him. And Newt understood.

Ben was under no delusions that Ben was _special_ to Newt, or something like that. He knew very well that Newt was just doing his job and would do this, be a support, for any of the Gladers.

Knowing it, wasn't enough to keep him from being infatuated with Newt. A small part of him was jealous that he could never have the easy camaraderie that was between Alby, Minho and Newt. The only consolation for Ben, no matter how bitter it may be, was that Newt was not interested in _any_ of the others.

That is, he was fine with it until the Greenie.

 _Thomas._

Ben was filled with crippling jealousy and unreasonable hate, whenever he saw how Newt went out of his way to help the newbie. He could only grit his teeth as he watched Newt and Thomas catch the other's eyes and exchange soft smiles.

He poured all his frustration and anger ( _that should have been him)_ into running. He was broken out of that haze by a sharp pain below his ribs. He stumbled to a stop and saw that the other runners were running to another section of the Maze.

"Come on, Ben!" Minho shouted.

Ben shook his head and put that pain out of his head. He took off after the other runners, not wanting to be left behind.

He should have seen what had caused him that stinging pain. He should have, but he didn't.

So, when he was overcome by a red haze covering his vision when he saw Newt smiling playfully at Thomas and bumping his shoulder, he lost it.

He was only vaguely aware of following Thomas into the woods. He could hear someone shouting, though he didn't know who.

"It's your fault! He should have been MINE! He IS mine! You took him away from me. It's your fault!"

He wasn't even aware of running. He was snapped out of his haze only when he felt something hit his side strongly and knock him to the ground. Newt's face swam in front of him. He looked beautiful with the sky as the background. But he was frowning and gesturing angrily.

"Newt? What...?" Ben muttered, confused.

Alby came to stand next to Newt. He was frowning too.

"Lift up his shirt," Alby ordered.

Everyone gasped, when his torso was visible. Ben himself couldn't believe it.

 _He had been stung._

Ben looked up at Newt again. But he saw him worrying over Thomas. Thomas looked like he had been in a fight. His clothes were all rumpled, leaves were sticking in his hair, he had a cut lip which Newt was dabbing at slowly, clearly trying not to cause him pain.

Only then did it strike Ben just _why_ everyone was looking at him with grave faces.

He had tried to _kill_ Thomas.

And in that moment, he knew exactly what his fate was going to be.

* * *

After Ben was taken to the pit, Newt couldn't stop his hands from shaking. He muttered something to Alby and Minho and escaped from there. He didn't see them exchange worried glances.

Clenching his hands to fists, he walked blindly into the woods, dodging branches subconsciously.

He couldn't get the moment of Thomas running, shouting for help, with a feral looking Ben chasing after him, out of his head. He remembered that paralysing feeling when he saw Thomas go down after Ben tackled him.

He wasn't even aware of running to them and swinging the shovel at Ben.

Newt was jarred out of his thoughts when he felt someone catch his shoulders and turn him around. He didn't even notice that he had been leaning on a tree, his hands still clenched into fists.

"Hey," whispered a familiar voice.

Newt looked up at Thomas, looking concerned for Newt. Thomas, who was recently attacked by a maniac, was concerned for _him._ Newt didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"Newt," said Thomas, softly. "Are you okay?"

His eyes roamed over Thomas' face, lingering over the cuts on his cheeks and the split lip. Without conscious thought, his hands lifted to cradle his face, careful not to touch any of the bruises.

Newt let out a strangled chuckle.

"You are asking if _I_ am okay? Tommy, _you_ were the one who was attacked!"

Thomas shrugged, unconcerned for himself.

Newt wanted to smack him.

Instead, his thumb traced the split lip lightly. It wasn't very deep, but it still looked painful.

"Does it hurt?" Newt asked, in a low voice.

Thomas lifted his own hands to catch Newt's, but didn't move them away from his face. He just held them in place.

"It stings a bit, but otherwise I am fine."

Newt lifted his head slightly to see Thomas staring at him intensely. He felt a blush steal over his cheeks and cursed his pale complexion.

He gulped when Thomas leant towards him. Newt's eyes fluttered shut as Thomas rested his forehead upon his.

"Newt," began Thomas, in his gravelly voice. A small part of Newt wondered if it was because of Thomas' proximity to him.

"Newt, I am fine, alright? I am not hurt." Here, Thomas gave a wicked smirk. "I'm pretty sure it's Ben who is hurt. You've got a very strong arm, Newt. Very flexible, to be able to twist that shovel and swing it that fast."

Newt shoved him away, cheeks burning, a bright grin on his face.

"Oh shut up, Tommy," he said, snorting. He tried to smack him again, but he dodged, laughing all the while.

Newt didn't understand what this Greenie was doing to him. He made him laugh genuinely, made him _care_ , and worry. He didn't realize how truly apathetic he had been all this time. The last time he could remember feeling anything strongly, was the pain that broke through his depression as he broke his ankle. Oh, he laughed and joked when he was with the other Gladers. But, he was pretty sure only Alby, Minho and Frypan realized that he was putting on a mask.

 _What are you doing to me, Tommy?_

* * *

 **A/N: There we have Ben with a bit more of Newtmas interactions.**

 **And** **if you find any mistakes, let me know** **.**

 **I love hearing what you think!**


	9. Chapter Eight

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Isaac couldn't believe the way the pack was acting.

No one had said a word when Derek had made the decision to exclude Stiles from the pack. Isaac knew that he should have opposed it. Heck, he was going to speak up, and would have too, if Derek hadn't flashed his Alpha eyes at him. Even though he didn't want to, he had subsided, whining low in his throat.

He had hoped atleast _Scott_ would say something, but he just nodded along with Derek! Just remembering the way Stiles' eyes had dimmed, hurt and betrayal replacing the confusion, made Isaac want to rip someone apart.

All he could think at that time was _pack mate is hurt, need to protect, protect from hurt, keep him safe, comfort him,_ and a litany of _pack pack pack._

When Stiles had left the loft, he had thrown Isaac a concerned look. Isaac had to smother an affectionate smile. In a room full of werewolves with heightened senses, it was the human who had caught the flinch.

Stiles was the only one who knew how much it bothered him when he was made to follow the will of the Alpha even if he didn't want to. It reminded him of the days when he was so damn _helpless,_ under the control of the man who called himself Isaac's father. It reminded him of the dark and how he used to beg, plead and pray for someone, _anyone_ , to save him.

Isaac had wanted to go after Stiles but Derek had held them back. When he ordered them to stop all interactions with Stiles, Isaac was filled with shock and panic. He wasn't sure why it was that Stiles affected him so strongly, but at that moment all he could comprehend was that he couldn't talk with the hyperactive teen, couldn't bury himself in the feeling of belonging, _home, safety, pack,_ that he could always find around Stiles.

He felt himself nod at Derek and walked out into the forest. It was as though a fog had settled in his head. He felt his wolf curl up inside him in misery.

Looking up at the moon which was gracing the world with it's soft light, Isaac howled.

* * *

 _From Scott: Pack meeting now at the loft_

Isaac read the message and sighed. He fought the urge to throw the phone. He was finding it harder to control himself, his wolf in particular. The wolf in him wanted to get _out there_ and find his pack mate. That's what Stiles was to him, a pack mate, even if he wasn't a werewolf. The one with whom he was the closest, though no one in the pack knew it, except maybe Lydia.

 _But then, the banshee knew almost everything about everyone_ , Isaac thought wryly.

Isaac had smelled the depression on the normally vibrant teen. And yet, no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't disobey a direct order from the Alpha. Oh, how he loathed Derek Hale!

The day Scott had announced that Stiles had left Beacon Hills, Isaac had seen how everyone reacted.

Scott had been heartbroken and confused. It had made Isaac angry that Scott hadn't even understood how his actions had driven Stiles away.

Derek had looked shocked and maybe a bit sad. Isaac hoped that he atleast felt some remorse. He knew that something had happened between Derek and Stiles, but wasn't sure what. He had his suspicions but hoped to the moon that they weren't true.

Others, including Allison, Erica and Boyd, had looked sad and in Erica's case, both sad and angry.

It was Lydia who surprised him. She was angry, oh boy was she angry. But she also had a satisfied smirk on her face as she threw a vindictive look at both Scott and Derek.

Back to the present, he wondered for what reason the pack meeting was being called. He briefly imagined Derek admitting how wrong he was to have cut Stiles from the pack. That image dispersed as Isaac snorted. As if!

Since Stiles had left, Derek had become even more bad-tempered than before. Whenever Scott would them the news that the Sheriff tells him, Derek would look so pained that Isaac and Lydia would share a quick glance.

Isaac had approached Lydia in the beginning and they shared their thoughts. He had found that both of them were angry at the way Stiles had been treated, and were feeling pretty overprotective of him, and maybe a _little_ bit sadistic towards the ones who had hurt him in the first place.

Walking up to the loft, Isaac hoped that Stiles would come back soon. He missed the molten brown-eyed teen, his rapid speech, and his warm hugs.

He saw that everyone was already in. He took his place near Lydia, who gave him a small smile, and looked at Scott.

Whatever he was expecting, it was most definitely not this.

 _Stiles was missing!?_

 _Kidnapped!?_

Isaac stood and glared at Derek.

"This would have _never_ happened if you hadn't done what you did!" Isaac snarled.

Derek growled at him but Isaac didn't back down and growled right back.

"First, for a lame reason, you cut Stiles from the pack. Then, you _ordered_ us not to interact with him. You didn't care that he was depressed. Don't you _dare_ tell that you didn't know! I informed you about it as soon as I found out. But even then, you didn't let me go to him! When he left for his own happiness and peace of mind, _you_ acted like a damn martyr. And now he's missing and _it's your goddamn fault!_ "

Isaac stopped, breathing heavily. Lydia came up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder, giving him silent support. She glared at the others who were still gaping at Isaac's outburst.

"We," Lydia said, gesturing to Isaac and herself. "We are going to help in searching for Stiles. You are welcome to come along. If you don't want to, I suggest you stay the hell out of our way."

With that, both turned to the door. They hadn't taken two steps when Derek growled out, " _Isaac._ "

Isaac paused but then continued as though he hadn't heard him.

" _I am your Alpha!_ " Derek roared at him, eyes flashing blood-red. "I forbid you from going!"

Isaac turned slowly to face Derek and stared straight at his eyes.

"No," he said, simply.

"No?" Scott choked out.

Isaac glanced at him briefly before looking back at Derek. He dimly wondered why he wasn't affected by the Alpha, and hoped that he wouldn't get his throat ripped out.

"An Alpha is supposed to care for the pack, provide shelter, be a guide, a leader and a protector," Isaac stated, quietly. "Considering that, Stiles has been more of an Alpha to me than you ever were."

On that note, Isaac, along with Lydia, walked away knowing that his wolf had rejected Derek as it's Alpha. Isaac hadn't even known that it was possible. He was still marvelling at the fact that he was still alive.

He heard the sound of feet on the floor just before the door opened and Erica, Boyd, Scott and Allison walked out to them.

"Come on, let's get our Stiles back," Allison said, smiling.

Scott squeezed her hand, looking worried for Stiles.

Boyd nodded stoically. But then, he did everything that way, so no surprise there.

Erica's eyes glinted like ice cold chips of granite.

"Yeah, we're getting Batman back."

* * *

 **A/N: Wow, overdramatic much? *rolling eyes at myself***

 **What do you think? Disappointed? Delighted?**

 **As always, if you find any mistakes, do let me know.**

 **Reviews** **and comments are much appreciated.** **Or just PM me.**


	10. Chapter Nine

**CHAPTER NINE**

 _Red..._

 _Blood dripping from the walls._

 _Claws flashed and fangs sunk into the unarmoured throat, ripping and tearing..._

 _Snarls and growls filled the air, along with the stench of terror._

 _He had to go somewhere, he had to go to someone..._

 _But WHO?_

 _He couldn't see anything and the darkness was pressing onto him from all sides._

 _Someone was calling him, crying out so loud their voice cracked._

 _A flash of strawberry blonde hair whipping through the air, a molten brown, fear-filled pair of eyes, a flash of red..._

Thomas woke up with adrenaline rushing through his veins, gasping for breath but very much alert. His eyes mapped his surroundings with the wariness of a veteran soldier. His body was still in the fight-or-flight mode, so tense that he seemed to be carved from granite.

It was still dark and everyone was asleep. Well, everyone except him apparently.

Thomas didn't know what to make of his dreams. Everytime he woke up, he could always feel the echo of the tumultuous emotions that his dreams had invoked in him. He didn't know what to think of the life he had probably led before this whole Maze and loss of memory fiasco. It also ticked him off that he couldn't remember what exactly his dreams were made of.

He had a feeling that his memories weren't actually _lost_ but were, instead, suppressed. That might explain how he kept dreaming about things that he wasn't supposed to remember. Even right then, whatever knowledge he had gotten from his dreams was starting to fade away like mist under the sun. The harder he tried to grasp it, the faster it dispersed.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when Chuck gave a loud, rumbling snore as he turned over in his hammock.

Thomas chuckled.

Chuck was like a breath of fresh air in the Glade.

Thomas first noticed it on his first day there. The other boys looked world-weary. That's the only way Thomas could describe them. They carried a lot of weight on their shoulders. He guessed that every day that goes by without them finding a way out of the Maze only added to that weight.

Even though none of them remembered their lives from before, Thomas knew that they were all working to go _home._ Because, in the end, only the hope of going home, hopefully somewhere safe, could have kept them all from breaking apart and crumbling under the ever-growing pressure.

Maybe it was because Chuck was the most recent addition to the Gladers, other than Thomas himself, but he was still untouched by the hopelessness. The other Gladers knew that too. Thomas realised that the others considered Chuck to be the kid of the group. And even though they gave him a hard time, he had seen how Chuck's innocence and laughter always brought a smile to their faces and loosened some of their tension.

Thomas had only been in the Glade for a few weeks and already, he had started considering Chuck to be like his younger brother. He was certainly feeling that vicious protectiveness towards him.

He only wished that the Maze wouldn't corrupt him and make him lose his smile.

 _Like it did to Newt_.

* * *

It was morning.

Thomas was stretching himself when he saw Newt looking particularly grim, staring at something. Turning, he saw that Alby was getting ready to run into the Maze with Minho.

Thomas frowned. Why would Alby want to go into the Maze? He was not a runner, as far as Thomas knew.

Chuck came up behind him and jostled his shoulder. Thomas glanced down at him. Chuck was looking at Newt, his brows furrowing in concern.

"What's up with Alby?" Thomas asked.

"Oh, he wants to search the Maze to see if there's anything different. Or suspicious." Chuck said, looking up at Thomas. His head came up to Thomas' shoulder.

"Why? What does he think he's gonna find?"

"I don't know. But they were saying that it's because of Ben."

"Ben?" Thomas didn't understand.

"Ben was stung, Thomas." Chuck was looking at Thomas as though he was being particularly slow.

"Yeah, he was..."

"Thomas, Ben was stung. In broad _daylight._ " Chuck's face was grave, his voice weighed with tension.

"That has never happened before, has it?" Thomas stated rather than questioned.

Chuck slowly shook his head.

"Never."

His emphatic answer managed to send a shiver down Thomas's spine.

* * *

Newt knew that he wasn't being his usual self. He knew, but he still couldn't help it.

He was worried. Alby and Minho, his two best friends since what seemed like _forever,_ had gone into the Maze.

Newt couldn't stop his brain from conjuring up images of them getting hurt or coming up against a Griever. What if something happened and they couldn't get out in time? What if they got hurt? What if, what if, _what if..._

He was utterly _sick_ of it!

And he knew it was wrong to take it out on the others. After realising that's what he had been doing, he clammed up and shut everyone out. He kept his facial expressions and the entirety of his emotions under tight control.

He also kept his distance from Thomas. Newt knew that if there was any person who could tear down his walls without even trying, it was the greenie. To be quite honest, that scared him.

So, it really was better for him to stay as far as possible from...

Newt's brain sputtered and crashed.

The reason for his sudden loss of mental capabilities was a shirtless Thomas who was chopping up firewood. He had probably been at it for a longer time since he had sweat gleaming on his forehead and torso. The play of his muscles as he swung the axe made Newt gulp. He wasn't the only one either. Newt saw how some other boys stumbled in their works when they glanced at a sweaty Thomas. Newt couldn't even blame them when he himself was gaping at him.

There was a sweat droplet that captured Newt's entire attention. He traced its path as it rolled down his jaw, down that pale expanse of a neck which was marked with freckles just like stars decorated the night sky. He was overcome with an intense desire to trace a path between those freckles with his tongue.

The droplet rolled down his chest and his abs, into the waistline of his pants. His concentration was broken when his eyes caught the hint of a scar.

Newt frowned.

There wasn't just _one_ scar. There were _many_. Looking at the crisscrossing, silvery patterns, Newt was filled with horror and rage. Horror that someone as bright as Thomas had to suffer as much as the scars suggested that he had and blind rage at the person who had dared to hurt him.

Newt knew that the Gladers getting out was a future that was more hope than reality. And yet, he made himself a promise that no matter what, Thomas wasn't going back to his former life without Newt by his side.

It was then that Thomas looked up and caught Newt's eyes. It was both startling and heart warming how his face brightened up with a goofy smile and his eyes sparkled. He looked genuinely happy to see Newt. There was also some unreadable emotion that darkened his eyes and made Newt feel as though his blood was on fire.

Newt then put the thoughts of murder and untold violence against the people who had been the cause of pain for Thomas, at the back of his mind. He could always fantasize about it later. Right now, Newt stared as Thomas walked towards him, wiping at his neck and chest with his shirt.

Newt swallowed the whimper that threatened to escape.

"Hey Newt," Thomas greeted, his gravelly voice causing Newt's pulse to quicken.

"Tommy, hard at work?" Newt pretended that his voice didn't break embarrassingly.

Even though Newt tried to ignore how his voice broke like a prepubescent teenager, Thomas had no qualms in openly grinning, his eyes twinkling mischievously. Newt averted his eyes for a second, feeling his cheeks burn, and then glared at Thomas, or atleast tried to, since Thomas smiling like a fool was a sight that warmed him to his very soul and prevented him from maintaining the facade of anger.

"Come on, Tommy," chuckled Newt. "Let's take a walk."

The two of them walked around the Glade, talking and laughing. Thomas seemed to be especially gifted in being able to make Newt laugh. Other Gladers stopped their work and glanced at them, Newt in particular, whenever the rare sound of Newt's laughter reached them.

It would be very much later that Newt would realise that Thomas had successfully made him forget his worries, without even trying.

* * *

"Come on! You can make it! Come on, Alby! Come on, Minho!"

Every Glader was standing, quivering with anticipation, at the entrance of the Maze, screaming encouragement at the limping forms of Alby and Minho. Newt was shouting the loudest.

Thomas knew that they couldn't make it. Alby was hurt, Minho was insistent on bringing Alby with him. This disabled him from running. He looked at Newt.

Thomas then did what he felt was the right thing to do. He was not someone who could just stand by and watch two people get killed; and that's what was going to happen if they got caught in the Maze.

Also, Thomas knew that losing Alby and Minho could very well be the final straw for Newt. He wouldn't just stand by as Newt crumbled. He couldn't.

So, not heeding Newt's panicked cries, Thomas ran.

"No, Tommy, _NO_! Tommy, don't you dare! Come back!"

This time it was Thomas who pretended that he didn't hear the way Newt's voice broke in the last sentence.

* * *

As the walls shut with a bang, Newt crumpled to the ground, hitting the walls with his fists, sobbing as his heart shattered.

In a single moment, Newt had not only lost his two best friends, his brothers, but also Thomas, who had already been on the way of becoming something _more_.

He didn't think he would ever be able to piece himself together after what had just happened.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **If you find any mistakes do let me know.**

 **Hope you guys enjoyed it.**


	11. Chapter Ten

**CHAPTER TEN**

The Sheriff of Beacon Hills was at his home, looking over files related to several missing teens with bleary eyes. A cup of coffee, gone cold long ago, was on the table.

Looking at the man, one could see that he was at the end of his tether. He was holding himself together only because of sheer willpower, his steadfast love for his son and his desperate hope that he'll find his son before it was too late.

 _'None of the kidnapped teens, have been found again. There are no evidences stating whether they are alive or dead,'_ a report stated.

The Sheriff took in a shuddering breath and brought his shaking hands up to press against his eyes. He pressed his palms hard against his tired eyes, wishing futiley that it was all a bad dream and that Stiles would walk in through the door, brightening the whole room with his beaming smile.

He wanted, no, _needed_ Stiles back.

He wanted his son to come back home.

 _'I'll find you, son. I'm going to bring you back home and I'm never letting you out of my sight ever again. Just hold on, Stiles, god please hold on.'_

* * *

A few miles away, a meeting was being held. The werewolves and the human members of the Beacon Hills wolf pack could be found at the base of a tree, in a clearing surrounded by shrubs.

"He's devastated," said Boyd, his eyes filling with utter sorrow. "He's hanging on by a thread. He might snap any day."

Isaac gritted his teeth as he fought against his impulse to howl in misery.

"We need to tell him. He deserves to know that he isn't alone in searching for his son."

The others nodded.

"Also," said Allison, determined. "Someone should make sure that the Sheriff is taking care of himself. Stiles will kick our asses if he thought we hadn't been taking care of his dad," she finished with a wry twist to her lips.

A smattering of chuckles filled the air.

Everyone knew how protective Stiles was of his dad. They had experienced first hand, Stiles' legendary temper whenever he was worried about his only remaining parent.

It was agreed that every member of the pack would take turns to stop by the Sheriff's home and the station to make sure that he isn't missing his mealtimes or his sleep.

Before that, they were going to offer their help to the Sheriff, let him know he wasn't alone. They couldn't do anything via the official channels but being a werewolf had it's perks.

The meeting soon dispersed, after the pack had decided to meet at the Stilinski residence.

Isaac leaned against a sturdy tree, his shoulders sagging. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms, cutting into them. Beads of blood appeared, just as the skin healed over repeatedly.

A small hand covered his own, not loosening his fists but rather, squeezing it gently. Lydia stood by him, a reassuring presence, a strong warrior forged from ironclad control over terror and fury.

"We are going to get him back," her voice, like a lilting whisper, floated through the space between them, fanning the embers of his hope.

Isaac breathed out, a gust of air rushing past his lips.

"Yeah," he stated, looking up at the sky. "We are."

* * *

Elsewhere, in a hidden facility, a group of scientists were standing around the screens displaying the Maze and the Glades.

"You realise, Dr Paige, the boy might not survive the Maze," a man with muddy brown hair stated, gazing shrewdly at the monitor showing Thomas desperately hoisting Alby up by the vines.

Ava Paige hummed non-commitally, her eyes never wavering from the vitals of Thomas displayed next to the screen showing his current actions.

"He's not going to die," Paige replied, finally. "He's too stubborn to just die."

She pursed her lips, deep in thought.

"Get the next subject ready," she said abruptly.

"Ma'am?" A woman questioned, startled.

"Prepare the subject named Teresa for going out into the field," ordered Paige.

The other scientists bustled out of the room, eager to do the work instead of staying in her formidable presence.

Ava Paige tapped a carefully manicured finger against her lips, her eyes holding a calculating, and a slightly sadistic look.

 _'Soon, Thomas.'_

* * *

In the Glades, Newt was catatonic. He wouldn't move from his position in front of the Maze's entrance.

Gally, Frypan and Chuck went over to him and helped him over to a hammock.

Gally, who never hid just how much he hated Thomas, looked at the broken shell of Newt and instructed Chuck to stay with him. He felt a pang of sympathy for the boy who was staring at the Maze's doors, tears flowing unbidden from his eyes, down his cheeks. Newt didn't even seem to have noticed it. He kept his blank gaze fixed at the doors, hoping against hope that the doors would open up and that his boys would be right behind it.

 _'No no no not Tommy, Minho oh god Minho, Alby please, can't lose you all please, come back, please please please, Tommy please.'_

Newt held his vigil, alone, his mind and soul clouded with despair, long after the Gladers had dropped off to sleep.

* * *

As Thomas struggled to tie the unconscious Alby high up, as away from any Griever's reach as possible, he kept a sharp ear out for anything that might be out for his blood. He hoped that Minho was still alive.

Minho was one of the oldest Runners and the most experienced too. If there was anyone who knew how to navigate the Maze, knew to use that knowledge to ensure his survival, it was Minho.

Just as he finished tying up Alby, he heard the eerie sounds of a Griever.

His heart pumped furiously, adrenaline rushing through his veins. He could see everything with excruciating clarity.

Oddly, his mind was calm, even as his body flew into the fight or flight response. It was as though Thomas had been in similar situations so many times before.

Thomas spared a moment to wonder exactly _how_ crazy his life had been before the Maze.

Taking a deep breath, he pictured Newt, his head thrown back in laughter, eyes sparkling mischievously, no trace of sadness on his face. With that image tucked in his brain and his heart, he steadied himself, bracing upon his heels.

And he ran.

* * *

 **A/N: This chapter is like a collection of fillers, lol.**

 **As always, if you find any mistakes, let me know.** **Drop me a review or a comment or just PM me ;)**


	12. Chapter Eleven

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

It'd been two months.

Two months since the Sheriff had received the phone call that almost destroyed him. Two months since his son, Stiles, had gone missing.

It had been two very long and tiring months, filled with despair and increasing hopelessness and the only reason the Sheriff had pulled through was due to his stubborn nature and utter determination to bring his son home.

Officers from the Beacon Hills' police station and also from the neighbouring towns, on hearing about the kidnapping, had volunteered to help in the search of the missing teen. Not because they were obligated to, but because the Sheriff was respected and loved and his son even more so since an officer had caught him threatening another for talking shit about his dad.

But no matter how much manpower was employed, they hadn't found anything.

It had been a month since the pack, excluding Derek Hale, had come to him.

It had been a month since he _wasn't_ drowning in silence everytime he was house ( _it's not home without Stiles oh son where are you just hold on please_ ). A month since any member of the pack kept dropping in to check up on him every day.

Lydia and Allison made sure that the house was always stocked with food. Scott had thrown away all the liquor bottles after that one night he had come to the Stilinski residence and found a drunk father, filled with fear that he was going to lose his only son, just like he lost his wife.

Allison had dropped by one day, while the rest of the pack were also present, with her father right behind her.

"I'll pass the message around the hunters to keep an eye out for your son," Chris Argent had said, reassuringly. "We'll find him, Sheriff."

The werewolves had gone to the crime scene, trying to see if they could catch Stiles' scent. They had. But when they followed it, it appeared to have dropped off in the middle of the road. Also, they couldn't identify any individual scents as a lot of people had been in that motel room and any trace of the kidnapper's scent was long gone.

"We could ask other werewolf packs, right?" Erica asked, her eyes tired and reflecting her worry.

It seemed like every day that passes by without any news about Stiles only added to the weight on every one of their shoulders and darkened the circles under their eyes.

" _We_ can't," Scott said, ruefully. "That was one of the things Derek told us first."

Isaac nodded.

"One werewolf pack cannot approach another without the knowledge and the consent of the Alpha. Any talks between the two packs will require both the Alphas. And though I don't like it, Derek's the only Alpha we got right now."

The others grimaced. None of them were happy with Derek. He was still their Alpha with the exception of Isaac. Isaac's wolf had utterly rejected the pack bond between them. But he wasn't an omega either since, he could feel the pack bonds to the others, a new one blossoming between him and Papa Stilinski, and a strong yet tenuous bond to Stiles, his real Alpha. That was how he knew that Stiles was still alive, still fighting.

And _that_ was the only thing that gave them hope to soldier on despite the odds stacked against them.

"But, maybe we-" Isaac cut off, chest rumbling with an uncharacteristic growl.

"What is it?" The Sheriff sat up, focussing intently on his facial expression.

The other wolves tilted their heads, listening to something only they could hear. Allison and Lydia exchanged glances.

Boyd broke the silence.

"It's... It's Derek. He's asking to talk to us. And you in particular, Mr. Stilinski."

Scott hissed, his eyes flashing.

Everyone broke into speech, listing out the various reasons why Derek shouldn't, _couldn't_ , be trusted. Seeing how he was actually considering it, even more vehement opposition was made.

Finally, the Sheriff said, very quietly, "Enough."

The pack fell silent. They looked resigned, knowing what his decision would be.

"I'll talk with him." Looking at their dejected faces, he smiled a little. "You can be there with me," he conceded.

No sooner he said that, there was a knock on the door and in walked Derek Hale, looking like a wreck.

* * *

Morning dawned like it did every day in the Glade.

As the Gladers slowly woke up, one by one, the events of the previous day filtered in. Chuck, Gally and Frypan rushed over to where Newt was.

On reaching Newt, they fell all over themselves to keep quiet because it was apparent, looking at the worn out, sleeping boy, that he had only passed out when he no longer could keep himself awake.

Frypan decided to start preparing breakfast so that Newt would have something to eat when he woke up. Gally frowned with concern at the tear tracks visible upon the pale skin of the devastated boy and instructed Chuck to remain with him, and left to warn the other boys to leave Newt alone.

Chuck sat by where Newt was lying near the hammocks, wondering why he had to suffer so. He knew he wasn't close to Alby and Minho as much as Newt was to them, but he did consider Thomas as his best friend. Thinking of Thomas sent a wave of pain over him, filling his eyes with tears. Gazing at Newt, who was moving restlessly while murmuring, " _No, no... Tommy, Minho... please, Alby, no..._ ", Chuck had to grit his teeth to keep from sobbing.

It was unfair, _oh so unfair,_ that it had happened just when Newt was finally happy. Chuck had never seen Newt smile as brightly, as freely, without putting on a facade, as he had done when he was around Thomas. He vowed to be there for Newt as Newt had been to every Glader when they had woken up in the Maze, alone and scared.

It was the least he could do.

* * *

The Maze was open.

It had opened at the same time as it did every day. There was nothing to show that the Maze had been responsible for the end of three lives just the previous day.

When the sound of the Maze opening had been heard throughout the Glade, everyone had rushed to the opening, their hearts filling with hope against their better judgement.

There was no one. No Minho running through the opening, tossing a cheeky wink. No Alby, with his reassuring presence and a calm smile to anyone who needed it. And, no Thomas, with his mischievous smirk and sparkling eyes.

Newt felt as though the ground had dropped away from under his legs. He knew, logically, he _knew,_ that he wasn't getting his friends back.

 _No one survived a night in the Maze._

He knew it and yet, like an idiot, he had let himself _hope._ And now, it felt like his whole world was crashing down around him and he's standing there powerless to stop it.

He staggered away from the Gladers who were reaching for him, murmurs of sympathy filling the air.

He couldn't breathe. Dark spots littered his vision. There was someone calling out his name. He fell to his knees, dry heaving to the side. Soothing hands smoothed over his hair and back.

"Breathe Newt, come on, breathe. Yeah, that's it. Just breathe," murmured Frypan, kneeling next to Newt.

Newt took in a shuddering breath, without any conscious thought, his mind filled with resounding denial.

He clambered to his feet, with difficulty, and swayed where he stood. He didn't want to be there, didn't want to let loose the howl of misery that was battering at his soul in front of these people.

Shouts penetrated the fog covering his mind.

"Look! Look! It's them!"

Newt swirled around, eyes widening with disbelief and traitorous hope. He pushed past the others, moving to the front, and stopped short.

There they were. His boys.

Thomas and Minho were carrying an unconscious Alby between them. They appeared to be unharmed except for a few bruises and torn clothes.

Despite his best efforts, a sob escaped him.

 _They were okay. They were fine. They were alive. Oh gods they were alive._

The Med-jacks rushed Alby to a medical room. Minho and Thomas knelt on the ground, catching their breath.

Newt felt dizzy from the amount of relief that washed over him. He was busy raking his eyes over both the boys, checking for injuries, when Minho announced that Thomas had _killed a Griever_.

Newt could see that the knowledge that the Grievers weren't as invincible as they had previously thought cheered up the Gladers immensely. Thomas accepted that he had broken the rules and would be judged by the Keepers.

Thomas maintained a smile on his face as everyone clapped him on his back and shoulders, congratulating him on his deed, but Newt noticed the barely concealed panic in his eyes. Minho told him to rest and went up to Newt, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. That weight reassured him that, what was happening was real, Minho was alive and well and it was going to be okay. Newt nodded at Minho, blinking back tears. Minho gave a warm smile and jogged towards a hammock, probably to pass out.

Turning, he saw Thomas walking quickly towards a small clearing, at a corner of the Glade. Newt frowned, remembering the panic stricken expression Thomas had. As he followed him, he dimly wondered how it was that no one else had noticed it except him.

Reaching the clearing, he saw Thomas pacing. Newt stepped into the open just as Thomas' head snapped towards him.

"Newt," Thomas breathed out, as though he was his benediction.

Newt walked closer. He couldn't _not._ Not when Thomas was looking like _that_ , as though Newt was everything he had ever wanted.

"Tommy," Newt whispered.

They were close now, leaning towards each other, caught in the other's orbit. So close that, Newt could feel Thomas' breath on his cheek. A shiver wracked through him.

Just then, everything that had happened since the other day- the worry when Ben had attacked Thomas, grief that another Glader was lost, worry for Alby and Minho when they ran into the Maze, self-loathing that he couldn't follow them to watch their backs, despair that they wouldn't return in time, disbelief and agony as the Maze closed with Thomas, Alby and Minho within, and the heart-stopping relief at seeing his boys again- crashed into him.

And, before he knew it, Thomas had him wrapped up in his arms, holding on to Newt as though Newt was his whole world, rocking them slightly as Newt broke down.

"I thought you were dead, Tommy, I thought you were _fucking dead_ ," gasped out Newt, between heaving breaths.

Thomas clutched him even tighter, placing kisses on his hair, all the while murmuring in a wrecked voice, "I'm sorry, Newt. Gods, I'm so very sorry. I thought I'll never see you again."

When all the tears had been shed, both of them feeling raw like never before, Newt had his head on Thomas' shoulder, and Thomas was still giving him absentminded kisses.

Newt straightened, not that he wanted to. Thomas loosened his hold to let him sit up, but didn't let go. He couldn't.

Looking him in the eye, Newt said fiercely, "If you _ever_ do that again, I _swear_ , Thomas-"

Thomas rested his forehead upon Newt's, and whispered, "I am sorry, Newt. I understand. And I'll try my best not to worry you like that ever again."

Newt swallowed hard and nodded slightly. "Thank you. For bringing them back."

There was no need to specify who 'them' was. Thomas kissed his forehead in acknowledgment.

Newt closed his eyes, tears threatening again at the tenderness of the moment.

 _He could have lost this. He almost did._

"Can I... Can I kiss you, Tommy?" The words were a whisper.

Thomas let out a strangled sound of acknowledgment. Normally, Newt would have teased him mercilessly for that. But that wasn't exactly a normal time, was it?

As their lips met, all Newt could think was, _finally._

After dancing around each other all these times, the kiss had been a long time coming. It was chaste, just a press of lips against each other. And yet, when they separated, their pupils were blown wide and the sound of harsh breathing filled the air.

"Newt," Thomas murmured softly, unwilling to break the spell that surrounded them.

It wasn't clear who reached for whom but, the next thing they knew, Thomas' hands were in Newt's hair, Newt was holding Thomas' face in his hands, both panting into the other's mouths.

Newt whimpered as Thomas bit and sucked his lower lip into his mouth. Thomas devoured Newt, tugging at his hair and licking into his mouth, until all Newt could feel, taste and breathe was Thomas.

Newt gave as good as he got and for every whimper that Newt let out, he was repaid with a moan. Thomas dragged his mouth over his cheek, sucking in precious air, and continued down Newt's oh so pale throat, biting along every inch of the new territory that he was mapping, marking him with a possessiveness that made Newt groan. Newt dragged Thomas up to capture his lips with his own, unable to let him go. Thomas was definitely not complaining.

It was a long time till they could calm down a bit and the heat between them tapered down from a raging inferno to a warm fire, still burning bright.

"The things you make me do, Tommy," Newt chuckled.

"Things _I_ make you do?" Thomas said, sounding outraged. "What about the things _you_ make _me_ do?"

Thomas grinned at him. He looked beautiful, like a star fallen to earth, with sparkling eyes that was lit up with his happiness, the dimples on his cheeks and mussed up hair that fell over his warm, brown eyes.

Newt smiled back.

 _I think I love you._

* * *

 **A/N: NEWTMAS! F** ***** **CKING FINALLY!**

 **This chapter was supposed to be about 1.5k words, yeah? But the bloody thing just wouldn't end! And kiss? What kiss? I most definitely didn't plan that one!**

 **Nor did I plan Derek! But they happened all the same. Yikes.**

 **Okay, now. About the fic. You guys might have noticed it, but I thought of pointing it out anyway.**

 **The story is happening** **at** **two different times- both the events of what happened in BH when Stiles went missing** _ **and**_ **what was happening with Thomas in the Maze, are happening simultaneously in the fic. I have mentioned before, in a previous chapter, that Stiles/Thomas will be found only after he was missing for SIX months. Some more of the time line was mentioned in that previous chapter, containing two OCs: Eugene (creep), and Rebecca Green. So read that again if you want.**

 **Also, my exams are going on so,... well, you know what'll happen.**

 **Reviews** **a** **nd comments are much appreciated. Let me know what you think and also if you find any mistakes. And please, for the love of the universe, tell me how was the Newtmas scene coz I've never written anything like that before.**


	13. Chapter Twelve

**CHAPTER TWELVE:**

It seemed like there was an invisible line separating Derek Hale from the rest of the occupants in the Stilinski residence's living room.

On the other side of the werewolf Alpha, Sheriff Stilinski stood, wearing his holster with his gun, armed with bullets from Chris Argent. Flanking the Sheriff, Isaac stood to the right while Lydia was on the left. The pack members were scattered around the living room, wary of openly defying their Alpha but unwilling to stand by his side.

Looking at his pack, Derek felt exhausted. He could feel pack bonds connecting them to him and each other. The bonds among themselves were strong still, but their connection to him, their Alpha, was tenuous at best. He couldn't find even a trace of the bond that once connected Isaac with Derek.

Derek knew that the reason the pack had splintered was him. If he hadn't done half the things he had, maybe the pack would still be whole, maybe Stiles, the pack's anchor, would still be safe, maybe Stiles wouldn't have suffered so.

There were many things that Derek regretted. But what caused him the most pain was the way he had treated Stiles.

Looking back, Derek realized that without Stiles, the pack wouldn't have gotten out of many problems with all their limbs attached. Also, Stiles was there whenever anyone needed him in whatever form it may be- someone to lean on, a quiet companionship, a sympathetic ear to vent, or a non-judgmental advisor. Even though Derek hadn't realized it then, he knew now, Stiles had been the one who had held the pack together and helped them to maintain peace and calm. Derek might have been the Alpha, but Stiles had been the pack's anchor. And now, he was gone because of Derek's idiocy.

Since the first time they had met, when Stiles and Scott had trespassed into the Hale property, Derek had been intrigued by the erratic boy who talked almost always about anything and everything. It had been so very interesting to hear the way his attention seemed to jump from one thing to another in the span of a second. It had taken almost all of Derek's self-control to keep his fascination under wraps. It didn't help to smell that the fascination was very much mutual and that Stiles had been well on the way to be infatuated with him.

Derek had done everything he could, in his own misguided way, to deter the infatuation. But if anything, Stiles had become even more ensnared in the werewolf's orbit.

In a small corner of his mind, right next to the corner filled with amazement for the breakable human and baffled astonishment that someone could actually be as attracted to danger as this _insane_ being was, Derek was surprised and pleased that someone like Stiles _(human he may be, but Derek wouldn't deny that he was among the most gorgeous and talented individuals Derek had known)_ could find someone like Derek _(broken, flawed, naive, so very dirty, the reason his parents, his family was all dead, his fault he believed the honeyed words of Kate Argent, his fault they are all dead, dead, DEAD)_ worth his attention.

As time wore on, Stiles' interest in Derek didn't wane, instead it waxed even more. Derek's fascination _(and lust, when did the gangly kid grown into this slim, muscled, sun-kissed, doe-eyed youth with cherry red lips and sex hair that he'd love to run his hands through and grip tight)_ didn't seem to disappear either. But he made sure to disguise the concern and care he had for Stiles with harsh words and rough gestures.

No matter how many times the pack and Derek himself told Stiles to stay away from the fight or danger zone, Stiles made sure to charge in right after them. Derek was scared shitless that one day, Stiles might not get out of it unscathed.

 _He dreams of Stiles. His head is thrown back in laughter, his pale expanse of neck dotted with moles on display to the world, his warm brown eyes sparkling with mirth and mischief. Derek fantasizes that one day, he might be the cause for that delightful laughter, but he knows it won't happen. As it always happens, his dream turns into a nightmare as the laughter stops and is replaced with high, blood curdling screams. Derek runs towards him, his heart thundering, the only thought looping through his mind being,_ 'not Stiles, not Stiles, please not Stiles'. _When he finally reaches the one who has captured his heart (only in his dreams will he ever admit it, never in the waking world, must keep Stiles away, must keep him safe), it is to see the bloodied and broken body lying on the floor, blank eyes staring accusingly right at Derek, his phantom voice whispering through the air, "It's your fault." And standing right over him, cackling gleefully, hands cradling a desperately beating heart, cruel eyes holding his gaze mercilessly, is Kate Argent. "Look at what you've done, Derek darling." As he stands there, unable to move, screaming, fire engulfs them all and he wakes up with a gulping breath, sweat clinging to his skin, ears ringing not with screams or cruel laughter, but with the soft whisper of Stiles' voice, "It's your fault."_

The first time Derek visited Stiles at night, and shared his bed, was after a brutal battle with another werewolf pack. The Beacon Hills pack had fought off the rogue pack, defending their territory and avenging their hurt pack mate, Boyd. Even though the native pack emerged victorious, every one was injured in some way or the other. Stiles, though uninjured, had been in mortal danger so many times that Derek had been filled with bone-chilling terror and fiery rage. That night, Derek had only wanted to see with his own eyes that Stiles had been unhurt, and wanted to hear his distinctive heartbeat that always soothed him. When he found Stiles awake and jittery, a hint of a bruise peeking out from beneath his shirt, Derek couldn't help himself from reaching out to touch him, to feel for himself the proof that the person in front of him was still alive and whole.

If there had been even a hint that Stiles did _not_ want it, want _him,_ Derek would have backed away. He had been many things, but he wouldn't ever be a rapist _(would never ever become Kate Argent)_. When Stiles was tired out and slept peacefully, his body curved towards the werewolf, Derek's lips curled with self-loathing and his eyes filled with disgust towards himself. He shouldn't have done what he had, he shouldn't have tainted the pure soul in front of him. He vowed to stay away from Stiles, henceforth. Before he left, he pressed a kiss to the vulnerable neck and inhaled deeply, the rich scent of earth and rain, intermingled with something that was purely _Stiles_ filling his nostrils and lightening his heavy heart. After a last fond look, he left.

Derek's vow to stay away held until the next big bad decided to take Beacon Hills for its own and in the process nearly killed Stiles, _fucking again._

And again.

Derek knew how much it hurt Stiles every time he was ignored, every time Derek pushed him away. He could literally smell the bitter scent whenever Derek turned away from him.

Derek hardened his heart and his gaze, and as the first step in his misguided methods of obtaining his goal to keep Stiles safe from the supernatural, he kicked Stiles out of the pack. He could have talked it over with Stiles, like adults, but he didn't do that. He ordered the pack to maintain distance from Stiles so that he won't carry the pack's scent which would make him a target. He should have heeded Isaac's warnings, but he ignored them, chalking it up to a ploy of Isaac to bring Stiles back into the pack, back into danger. He should have checked up on him, if he had, at least then he would have known the truth. But he didn't.

 _Hindsight was a fucking bitch._

Reality decided to give him a bitch-slap in the form of Sheriff Stilinski.

All this time, Derek had convinced himself that what he was doing was for Stiles' own good. Somewhere along the way, his idea of Stiles had shifted. He had forgotten the main thing about Stiles. The headstrong youth was in no way a damsel in distress, someone to be protected. He was, in actuality, a vicious knight and a protector. The old adage his mother was fond of saying came to his mind.

 _The highway to hell is paved with good intentions._

Derek finally got his reality check when the news of Stiles' abduction reached them. But there was still one obstacle left. His pride.

Admitting his mistakes wasn't one of Derek Hale's good characteristics. So, when Isaac snarled at him about his mistakes, Derek lashed out. He knew it was his fault _("It's your fault, Derek," the whisper in Stiles' voice haunted him)._ That was why he didn't stop the pack members from leaving.

For days, Derek had wandered through the woods, trying to find out where he went wrong. He was so fixated on the past, he almost forgot about the present.

 _Derek, sitting on a high rock, looked up at the crescent moon. He sighed wearily._

 _"Where did I go wrong? Why? All I wanted was to keep him safe."_

 _He wished for his sister, who always knew how to solve any trouble, gave him the best advise to help him._

 _"I could do with your help, Laura."_

 _In his mind's eye, he could see his sister laughing at him._

 _"What matters, little brother, is not what had happened. It's not going to do you any good to worry over the past. Instead, learn from it. What matters, Derek, is what are you going to_ do _about it?" The spectre of his sister raised an elegant eyebrow before it vanished._

And so, there he was, standing opposite to Stiles' father, his grief for his son and determination to get him back filling the air.

"I was wrong," Derek began, solemnly. "All I wanted was to keep Stiles safe. I know now the way I went about it was wrong. I should have talked it over with him instead of deciding by myself what was good for him. I should have listened to you, Isaac, when you told me. I should have paid more attention."

Derek scoffed at himself.

"I should have done a lot of things but I didn't. I am not asking you to forgive me. I can't even forgive myself. All I ask is this. Let me help you find him. Let me help you to bring Stiles home. Please."

The Sheriff stared, unblinking, at him, visibly gauging his words.

Next to him, Isaac titled his, listening to Derek's heart and smelling his scent. He could find no lie and could smell only remorse and despair.

"He is telling the truth," Isaac said, slowly, eyes narrowed at his former Alpha.

"We can use his help," Erica said, looking between her Alpha and the Sheriff.

A beat of silence.

The Sheriff gave a curt nod.

* * *

 **A/N: Do you guys have ANY idea how hard it was to write this chapter? Huh?**

 **I was originally planning on writing Derek to be a bad guy (relatively), but before I knew what the heck was going on, I wrote THIS.**

 **Do you know what this means? DO YOU? Well, let me tell you.**

 **It means, once again, I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THE ENDGAME IS.**

 **And I swear, if I end up with a fucking LOVE TRIANGLE OF ALL THINGS, I am throwing myself off a bloody cliff!**

 ***deep breath***

 **Yes, I am a bit hysterical, if you couldn't guess. I was so happy to write Derek as a bad guy knowing that there would be no obstacles for** **Newtmas, but noooooo. Derek had to throw a bloody big wrench in my plans. Bloody buggering d_ckfaced shuck. *more grumbling***

 **Do leave a comment. I'd like something to calm myself down.**

 **Thank you for all the reviews, favorites and follows. :)**


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

* * *

There was a girl.

A girl.

In the _Glade_.

Newt still couldn't believe it. And Newt didn't trust her.

This lack of trust, by the way, was in no way connected to the fact that _Teresa_ had woken up while gasping _Thomas_ ' name, nor the way she clinged to his Thomas, and absolutely not due to the huge amount of Thomas' time that she took up.

Of course not.

Why would the Creators send in a girl after all this time? What did they mean by, _'This is the last one'?_ How did the girl, Teresa, know Thomas? What did this mean for the Gladers?

Apart from the uncomfortably tight feeling in his chest, _which was NOT jealousy, thank you very much_ , whenever he saw Thomas and Teresa together, talking with their heads together, Newt was filled with worry. He had a feeling that things were going to go to hell soon.

He only hoped that they would be able to survive it.

"Newt," a familiar voice called out, bringing him out of his thoughts.

Newt blinked and his eyes focussed on the lean form of Thomas crouching in front of him.

That day, Newt had decided to walk to his grove amidst the trees during his break time. He would have brought Tommy with him, but he had been with Chuck, the younger boy telling him about the Glade and the people in it.

 _'Well, it looks like he had finally managed to sneak off from Chuck,'_ Newt thought, amused.

"Tommy," acknowledged Newt, head tilting to one side, lips curving up into a gentle smile in response to the smile on Thomas' face.

Thomas made himself comfortable on the ground, next to Newt, leaning back against the tree with a sigh. He knocked his shoulders with Newt's.

"We're going out tomorrow," Thomas said, glancing at Newt from the corner of his eyes.

Newt inhaled sharply. No matter how many times he had heard those words, had seen his friends run into the Maze, he was always filled with fear and apprehension. He let out his breath slowly and nodded.

Thomas took Newt's hand in his own and squeezed in an attempt at comfort. Newt squeezed back, holding onto the solid grip like it was the only thing saving him from drowning.

Thomas didn't give empty platitudes, knowing that Newt didn't want nor need them. But it was understood that he would be careful and do his damn best to come back in one piece.

"So," Newt started, in a falsely casual voice. "Talked with your girlfriend today?"

A blush suffused his cheeks when Thomas gave him a dry look, showing that he wasn't fooled.

"Newt, I told you, I don't remember her. Just because she thinks we were, in some manner, together _before_ all this, doesn't mean I'm going to be with her."

"And if you do remember?"

Newt hated how he felt insecure. He hated that he couldn't go out into the Maze with his friends because of his limp, he hated that he survived the fall, he hated his fear that Thomas will see just how _less_ Newt was when compared to pretty, _whole_ , Teresa.

Thomas looked at Newt and _knew_ how he felt. He couldn't explain it but it felt like he was looking into a mirror. That look on Newt's face almost screamed out loud, _'I am not enough, I'll never be enough, but please, oh please don't leave me, I am trying and yet I can't be what you want.'_ Thomas didn't know how, but he knew that once upon a time, that same expression had been on his own face too.

Turning to face Newt, Thomas reached out and cupped his throat, tilting Newt's head up with his thumb under Newt's chin till Newt met Thomas' eyes.

"Looks like I've already made my choice then, doesn't it?" Thomas made sure Newt saw the seriousness in his eyes.

Leaning in, Thomas captured Newt's lips with his own, sliding a hand back into his hair, holding on as Newt opened his mouth, letting Thomas in. Tongues tangled with the other, lips moulding with each other, tastes mingling.

With a muffled groan, Newt pushed Thomas back against the tree while clambering onto his lap, his hands gripping onto Thomas' unruly hair. Looking down at the wide-blown pupils filled with adoration and lust, the open mouth gasping in air and gasping out Newt's name and the bruised and bitten cherry red lips, Newt felt his doubts and questions melt away.

 _"Tommy,"_ Newt breathed out.

Thomas surged up, and it was a battle again. With a hand around Newt's waist and another on the back of his neck, Thomas held Newt close, not letting up on his assault except when air became a necessity. Newt was the same, unable to let go even when gulping in much needed oxygen.

If either of them had their way, neither would let go of the other.

Ever.

* * *

In the twilight, a shadowy figure darted inside the room barred with yellow police tape.

Right after the first figure, two more slipped in. The entire area was deserted at that time.

Isaac looked around, his night vision enabling him to see everything clearly. The police and the forensics officers had only seen the physical appearances. They did not know how even after so many weeks the room was still drenched in the scent of fear, anger and hopelessness of the room's previous occupant.

Isaac could, however, and it was hurting him. His wolf was howling within him, unable to bear the evidence of its Alpha's pain, feeling that it had failed personally in its packmate's protection against a threat. It was all Isaac could do to not let himself howl with it.

The only reason Isaac could even pick up Stiles' scent out of the multitude of other scents that were currently playing havoc on his senses was because of his pack bond with Stiles. But if there was anyone who could identify the different scents, it was an Alpha.

Isaac's attention was caught as Derek Hale let out a triumphant sound.

"Found him," Derek said, his red eyes flashing. "The same scent from some of Stiles' things. His blood was spilled here."

Isaac tried to stay standing, holding himself rigid against the overwhelming feeling of relief and hope.

"I will be able to track him," Derek said, lips lifting in a snarl showing the white fangs within.

Isaac nodded and glanced to the side where Erica fell into step behind him.

As one, the three werewolves began to run.

The hunt was on.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Looks like we are coming closer to the end of the Maze Runner movie version, guys!**

 **And yes, sorry for the late update.**

 **Thank you all for the amazing feedback!**

 **How was the chapter? Comments are hugely welcome.**


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN:**

* * *

It had been naive of Thomas to hope that things would go well after finding out about the hidden section in the Maze, with Minho. Thomas should have known, by instinct, that a good turn would be followed by a truck load of bad luck. That had been something _Sti-_ Thomas had learnt in his life, a lesson that had become ingrained within his very being.

So, it should have been no surprise when the wall-like doors to the Maze refused to close. After getting used to the doors closing at a particular time as a routine, the change was disconcerting and panic-inducing, to say the least. It didn't take long for the next conclusion to be reached.

 _There was nothing to stop the Grievers from entering the Glade!_

It was a riot of planning and activities in the Glade. The air was thick with fear, desperation and determination. The Gladers wouldn't be going out without a fight.

Thomas couldn't get his mind off the haunted look in Alby's eyes. Alby had remembered something, that much was obvious. But what could it have been to reduce him to a fearful shell?

A sharp tug to his hand drew him out of his thoughts. Recognising the texture of the hand holding onto his, he let himself be pulled to the side of a shed-like structure where they were relatively hidden from prying eyes.

Newt was pale, his eyes filled with terror that was controlled with an iron-clad will. His mouth was a grim line that showed just how much the turn of events worried him. Thomas couldn't help but trace the contours of Newt's face, with his eyes, knowing that the future was uncertain.

"Tommy," Newt said, in a firm, low voice. "Promise me that you'll be careful."

Thomas gazed silently at the face in front of him, the words struggling in his throat. He was suddenly hit with the realization that this could very well be the last time they would be together. His entire being cried out in denial, a scream escaping him in the form of a strangled whisper.

Fitting his palm at the side of Newt's face, Thomas said in a furious whisper, "I will, if you promise me to do the same."

Unable to hold himself back, Thomas drew Newt to him, his lips capturing the other's in a passionate embrace. Hands clutched at each other's hair and shoulders, _yearning_ to be closer. Lips clinging, hoping to draw out this single moment for eternity, teeth clashed with each gasping breath. Thomas felt as though they were exchanging their very souls in the kiss that was filled with desperation and love, _oh so much love._

Breaking away from the addictive lips of Newt, knowing that if he didn't stop now, he wouldn't ever, Thomas rested his forehead against Newt's, their breaths mingling in the space between their faces.

"I promise," Newt said, his voice hoarse.

Taking a deep breath, Thomas let it out slowly.

"So do I," he said, making sure to look Newt in the eye.

Nodding slowly, Newt leaned in to give a chaste, yet no less passionate, kiss to Thomas.

 _They'll survive_ , they told themselves.

 _They had to._

* * *

The last conscious thought that flitted through Thomas' mind, along with a wave of regret, just before a burning darkness swallowed him whole, was that Newt going to be _very_ worried and _utterly_ furious with him.

Thomas had promised to be careful, yes. But in that one moment, suspended in time, when he knew what he had to risk, the chance he had to take, there was no time to think of consequences.

 _Alby was looking at him fearfully and yet seriously, holding onto Thomas while being pulled by the Griever._

 _"You need to get them out of here, Thomas. You must."_

 _His eyes pleaded with him to understand the severity of his request. Closing his eyes, Alby let go. The scream of denial that erupted from Thomas' mouth was echoed by many._

Thomas knew that he had to be stung to _know,_ to make sense of what was happening.

Shouts from Newt and Chuck, filled with rage and shock, reached his ears, just before he gave into the pull of unconsciousness.

* * *

When Eugene had decided to go to the bar that day, he had been planning on a few drinks, and maybe a fuck or two. So, when he saw a young blonde giving him interested looks, he had no compunction in following the girl out into the alleyway. He pushed aside the niggling feeling that teased over his primal instincts screaming at him about danger.

The blonde pushed him towards the wall, following him with grace that was oddly reminiscent of a predator that he saw once on the television. Arousal flooded him, his heartbeat quickening. A smirk lifted the girl's lips. He wanted to wipe that look off her face, bite that red lips till they were stained with blood.

He reached for her, but she pushed him back with enough force that his back slammed into the wall, the breath driven out of him at the impact. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and a filthy grin took it's place on his face.

If she wanted it rough, he would give it to her rough.

Tilting his head, he caught a glimpse of amber. A sliver of unease crept upon his spine. Something wasn't right here.

A chilling growl sounded from within the alleyway. Eyes that were as red as the fires of hell flashed at him, in the dark.

Before he knew it, he was held captive by creatures, the blonde being one among them, that appeared to be from his worst nightmares. Terror flowed through him like never before.

"Now," a voice hissed. "Where is Stiles?"

* * *

They left the knocked-out man in the alley with looks of disgust.

Erica had made sure that he had been drunk enough that when he woke up the next day, all he would remember is going to the bar and drinking. Nothing more.

She looked at Isaac and Derek who stood with her, the moonlight casting harsh light on them.

"WICKED?"

Derek glanced at her and nodded.

"I've never heard of it," he admitted, a snarl audible in his words. The answers that they had received had left him very unsettled.

Isaac looked up at the moon. It was nearly full. Silvery clouds framed the pale orb, giving it an ethereal look. Stiles would have liked the view.

"We'll tell the Sheriff. And Argent. We need all the help we can get."

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Yes, I'm alive.**

 **My life's kinda spinning out of control, so all I can say is sorry. Anyone else having a crappy year?**

 **How'd you like the chapter? If you find any mistakes, let me know.**

 **We're almost at the end of the Maze Runner Book 1 arc. I've no idea how to continue from that point on, lol. No worries, I'll do my best.**

 **Question: Does Stiles have ADHD?**

 **Thanks for reading!**


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